Sixth year has ended, but the war has just begun. Harry returns to Privet Drive as Dumbledore had wished, but hope is thin. Harry slammed his fist down on the table. He was no Dumbledore. He was no auror. He was a teenage boy who hadnít even finished his schooling yet. How could he ever hope to destroy Voldemort? This story has been recently edited, though with no change to plotline.

Thank you melihobbit for the banner!
She's older now, the war ended years before. But some scars, still remain. One might even envy the small flowers, caressed by thick droplets of rain.
It was raining, as it usually was in the springtime. April showers bring May flowers. Many thought that when it rained, someone was crying up above, that it was a harbinger of sadness. How wrong they were.

Much thanks to Midnight Cityscape from the Dark Arts for the gorgeous banner! This story is pre-HBP. He had never been special. Never was handsome, or popular. But he didn't mind. To those whose eyes have seen the slaughter, all they want is to forget. To disappear. To become invisible.